


A Matter of Indulgence

by bookscorpion



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, D/s, Dom!Jaskier, M/M, Non-Physical Restraint, Oral Sex, Rape Roleplay, Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Verbal Humiliation, sub!geralt, this is softer than it sounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion/pseuds/bookscorpion
Summary: 'You're a bard, aren't you? Think of something. Like- theatre.' Geralt gestures vaguely. He clearly knows what he wants, just not how.Jaskier hadn't thought Geralt was one for roleplay, but he is more than willing to indulge him.In the latest chapter:'What did you do to me?' Geralt stalks across the room. His steel sword glides out of its scabbard with no noise at all.'Put that away, don't be ridiculous. In fact, you can take off your amour, it's not like you will need it here.' Waving his hand like he is shooing away a troublesome fly, Jaskier frowns at Geralt.Time to raise the stake with (pretended) magic
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 77
Kudos: 378
Collections: Subscriptions, Witcher Kinkmeme Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt fill for the [Witcher Kinkmeme](https://thewitcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/) running on Dreamwidth. No account needed to post anonymously there - check it out, leave a prompt, write a fill, have fun!

'You want me to do _what_?' Jaskier laughs out loud and regrets it immediately as Geralt's face shuts down. He reaches out from where he's sitting on the bed to Geralt and carefully touches his arm. 'I'm sorry, please explain that to me again. I won't make fun of you, I promise.'

'It's not that hard to understand. I want you to come up with a pretense to force me. Make it so I have no choice.' Geralt sits with his sword across his knee, having just finished cleaning it, and has sprung this on Jaskier without warning. He seems to be regretting it already, a slip of the tongue.

'But. How?' Jaskier scoots forward and looks Geralt up and down. Not that he needs it, he has memorised every single muscle and scar. And he knows how fragile he is compared to Geralt, even if he weren't a witcher.

'You're a bard, aren't you? Think of something. Like- theatre.' Geralt gestures vaguely. He clearly knows what he wants, just not how.

'I thought you didn't like play acting. Hated it, in fact.' It has been a point of discussion between them more than once. Loud discussion.

Geralt shrugs, sheaths the sword and leans it against the wall. 'I like it fine, with the right audience.'

There's a soft note in his voice, one that Jaskier rarely hears. It goes straight to his heart, and from there to his groin. He wants to do this so much, he goes a little weak at the knees. His thoughts race, trying to come up with a good scenario. One that does not require any guards or something. What would make Geralt endure something like this?

There's only one answer to this, if Jaskier doesn't want to go through the trouble of shackling him with pretend-Dimerithium and really, no one in their right mind would go near Geralt even then to _fuck_ him.

Jaskier gets up and shoos Geralt off the chair with a wave. He drags it away from the table and sits. Sprawls on it, to be precise, one arm over the back of the chair, turned sideways, legs crossed. Picks up a small bunch of grapes left over from their dinner. The perks of working in Toussaint.

He toys with the grapes and eats one. Lets Geralt wait and stand there, not knowing what to do with his hands. Jaskier considers a second grape with great concentration before looking up from it at Geralt. Deigns to give him attention.

'So. You want to earn the lives of your friends. What would you offer me, witcher? I have no use for your swords.' Jaskier does his best to sound bored, like he isn't even that interested.

'You might, sooner or later. And a witcher is a powerful ally. And not a good enemy to have.' Geralt deadpans, voice rough. There's a little fidget he does with his fingers that screams _I am bluffing_ and Jaskier is impressed. He's seen Geralt bluff, and he has no such tell. This is just for what they are doing right now, and it's good acting.

'Mhm.' Another grape is considered and eaten. Geralt tries to stay still and fails. It pulls a smile from Jaskier, and he turns it into a smirk. 'I am not interested in your threats or promises. Let us cut this short, it's getting tedious. I am interested in one particular thing. Well, two.'

'And what are those?' Geralt swallows. For a second, Jaskier imagines him swallowing like that around his cock, and he has to take a breath to steady himself.

'Your ass, and your cock. Attached to your body, preferably.' Jaskier eats the grape, bites it in half, licks the juice from his fingertips.

'What.' Eyes wide, golden iris glowing in the lamp light, Geralt stands stock still. He's poised to fight or flight and it is delicious.

With a sudden movement, Jaskier is up and on his feet, right in Geralt's personal space. 'You heard me. I will give you what you want, but you _will_ spend the night here, with me. And you will do whatever I say. See to it that you please me. It's your choice, the last you'll have tonight if you agree.'

Silence stretches between them, and Geralt can't meet Jaskier's eyes. Then he nods. 'Fine.'

Jaskier smiles, makes it as false and cruel as he can. 'Very good. It's such a small price, after all. One night, in your long life. Although I am sure you won't forget it.' He returns to his chair, picks up more grapes and waves at Geralt with his other hand. 'Go on, undress for me. Let me see what's mine.'

Geralt looks immensely uncomfortable, and it occurs to Jaskier that he doesn't know if that is real discomfort. Or if Geralt wants to make this part of their play. He leans forward and drops all his arrogant, cold behaviour.

'Listen, if you really want to stop, you say- uh, lovely bottom?' Jaskier is relieved when Geralt snorts with laughter. 

'Alright. Good thinking.' Geralt takes a moment to find his composure. Lowers his gaze to the floor and starts undressing. He sheds his armour,boots and his shirt, white skin in stark contrast to the black of his pants. The clothes land at his feet, simply dropped with no care. 

There's a moment of hesitation when Geralt has only his pants left. Jaskier clicks his tongue at him. 'Get on with it. We haven't got all night. Well. We do. But I want to spend it with other things than watching you undress, as titillating as that might be.'

Geralt drops his pants and braies, steps out of them and then visibly doesn't know what to do with his hands again. 

Jaskier takes that decision from him. 'Hands behind your back. Don't try to hide from me, I want to _see_.' His tone is a lashing, and Geralt winces, does as he is told. He scowls and Jaskier would normally rather gnaw off his own hand than talk to Geralt when he wears that particular expression.

Now, though, it's an invitation to step closer and touch. Touch whatever he wants, and that is Geralt's chest. And his arms, tracing the muscles there, quivering with suppressed and helpless rage. And his ass, as Jaskier walks in a circle around his price.

And finally, after a pause for dramatic effect, Geralt's cock. Jaskier palms it and gives it a squeeze, hefts Geralt's balls. 'People say interesting things about the stamina of witchers. Are they true?'

Geralt's answer comes through gritted teeth. 'Yes.'

'Delightful. I am so glad we came to this agreement.' With a last pat to Geralt's balls, Jaskier turns away, waves him off. 'You may lie down on the bed. I will join you shortly.'

Walking unhurriedly over to the table, Jaskier sits and sorts through some of the papers he left scattered there. Pretends to read them while ignoring Geralt. But he is very aware of the path Geralt takes through the room, and how his muscles shift under his skin. Jaskier is a connoisseur of the human body, and Geralt is very much a fine example. Jaskier's favourite, if he is honest with himself. Not that he would tell Geralt that. The man would only scoff and think Jaskier was making fun of him.

When an acceptable amount of time has passed, Jaskier pushes back his chair. He has not looked at Geralt on the bed and has to take a moment. Geralt is on his side, one thigh hiding his cock, head resting on his arms. It could be an enticing pose, if it weren't for how he's curled up almost as if to protect himself. And for how he is watching Jaskier's every move, golden eyes glinting in the light of the candles. 

Jaskier undresses, patiently folding his clothes. There's usually some shyness involved when he lets Geralt see him naked. Despite all his outward confidence and carefree behaviour, Jaskier never really can believe Geralt really wants _him_. The small (compared to Geralt), soft, slightly chubby bard. He doesn't understand it. And he never has asked, afraid of the answer.

But now, there's none of that. Jaskier wear his role like armour, all the arrogance and confidence, the knowledge that Geralt is his to toy with and use. He strides towards the bed and gets right up close to Geralt, rolling him on his back and straddling him. Geralt gives a surprised gasp. Jaskier is sure it's real.

'Do tell me, do you like men? And if you do, do you let them have your ass?' Casually petting Geralt's chest, Jaskier flicks at his nipples and runs a finger up Geralt's throat under his chin, tipping his head back while holding his gaze.

'I like men just fine.' Geralt's answer is a growl that would send drowners fleeing.

'And?' Jaskier raises an eyebrow. Pinches Geralt's nipples between his fingers when the answer is too long in coming. He's rewarded with a yelp, and as always he is fascinated by the fact that for all his tolerance for pain, Geralt is so sensitive to this.

'I don't.' Another pinch and Geralt remembers the existence of full sentences, something Jaskier often doubts he is aware of. 'I don't let them have my ass.'

It's a brazen lie. So that is how Geralt wants this to be. It's fine with Jaskier.

'Well, you will let me have it.' Jaskier sits down heavily on Geralt's cock, causing another gasp as he pins it beneath himself. 'I see the idea excites you.' He shifts and Geralt bucks under him, almost unseating him.

It earns Geralt another flick to his nipples and he settles down, hands fisted into the bedsheets. He's glaring at Jaskier and his clenched jaw probably holds in a stream of curses. 

Leaning sideways to dig in a saddlebag next to the bed, and well aware what unsavoury things one might encounter when reaching blindly into a witcher's saddlebags, Jaskier locates the vial of oil by touch. He hands it to Geralt.

'I will let you chose - you can open up your ass for me yourself, or I will do it.' When Geralt hesitates to take the oil, Jaskier frowns at him. 'What, would you prefer I just take you? That can be arranged.'

Geralt hastily snatches the oil out of Jaskier's hand, a movement so quick it barely registers. 'Give me that.'

With a pleased nod, Jaskier scoots backwards and sits on the bed, still between Geralt's legs. He's not about to give up this view. Geralt has never let him see this before. It's a little hard to tell with the flickering candles, but Geralt is actually _blushing_ and it is the most endearing and at the same time arousing thing Jaskier has ever seen.

Geralt coats his fingers with oil and then reaches down between his legs, lets them fall open to the sides. One hand holding up his balls, he drags his fingertips over his hole. Jaskier is intimately familiar with how that feels. How Geralt's sword-callused fingers are a bit rough and tug on the rim even with the oil. How surprisingly gentle he is, and it _had_ been a surprise to Jaskier when they first decided to act on their attraction. He had expected to be handled roughly, but Geralt is careful and attentive. Not that he cannot be rough, when asked to. But he is so very aware of his inhuman strength.

Jaskier sits and watches as Geralt presses a finger inside of himself, back arched the tiniest bit to reach and muscles tense. With his feet planted on the bed, Geralt slowly rolls his hips, fucks his finger into himself. When Jaskier runs a palm over Geralt's thighs, they quiver under his touch

'Is that what you do when you are alone? You seem quite adept at it.' Fingertips teasing his own cock, Jaskier tries to breath slowly and not just ravage Geralt as he would like to. The thought of him _ravaging_ Geralt makes him almost laugh and he turns it into a sneering smile.

'Fuck off.' It's a gasp, and Geralt doesn't sound as threatening as he probably thinks. But Jaskier still takes it as a reason to lunge forward quickly, grasping both of Geralt's wrists. Holding him with a finger of one hand in his own ass, and the other hand next to his head, Jaskier leaning over him.

'I know this is hard for you, but you _will_ keep a civilised tone. If I want coarse language from you, I will let you know. It has its place. As do you.' Jaskier stares at Geralt, and after a few seconds Geralt actually blinks and averts his eyes. It makes Jaskier weak with lust, and the need to see more of this, of Geralt being so compliant.

He let's Geralt go and sits back again. After a moment, Geralt starts fucking himself again. Jaskier casually flicks his balls, and flinches almost as hard as Geralt. He bites back the urge to apologise and instead frowns at Geralt. 'Well? I suggest you answer me.'

'Yes.' Geralt's voice is breathless and he can't make it into a growl as hard as he tries. 'I do that for myself.'

'Good boy.' Jaskier waves for Geralt to hand him the oil and slicks himself up. 'Now let me. And you will come for me. I want to know you enjoyed this.'

Another wave for Geralt to take his hand away and Jaskier sets himself against Geralt's hole, pushes in with a roll of his hips. His moan is answered by Geralt's and he loves this moment, as always. Of them both getting a first taste of this. They rarely come at the same time, usually Geralt likes to make Jaskier come before he does. But this, this is a shared moment Jaskier relishes.

Geralt reaches for his own cock and Jaskier gives him a slap to the wrist. 'That's not yours to touch until I say so. Put your hands above your head.'

With a scowl, Geralt complies and grabs at the sheets when Jaskier thrusts into him. His ass clenches around Jaskier's cock and he rolls his hips into the thrust, sucking down air through gritted teeth. Muscles tense and shifting when he pushes against Jaskier, Geralt hides his face, turns sideways into his arm. The drawn out moan he gives ends in a yelp when Jaskier runs a finger down his cock from the tip to his balls.

'If you ever get tired of being a witcher, you could have a place here. It would be easy to find a task for you, an official one, and we could have a little arrangement on the side.' Quite where he takes the control for talking like this while also being balls deep in Geralt's ass, Jaskier cannot say. But he is enjoying his role too much to-

'Shut up and _fuck_ me already!' There's a lovely tone of desperation in Geralt's voice. Jaskier savours it and keeps still.

'It's good to know you are so eager for this. Beg me. Let me know you really want this.' One hand to Geralt's chest, putting his weight on it, Jaskier moves back until his cock is on the verge of slipping out.

Geralt stares at him, mouth open. Then he closes it. Opens it again. He's chewing on the words like they are suffocating him. Takes a deep breath and suddenly goes all pliant and soft. 'Please, fuck me! I want you, please!'

With a satisfied grin, Jaskier snaps his hips forward and Geralt arches up under him, even with Jaskier's weight holding him down. That unthinking display of strength in combination with Geralt's submission makes Jaskier come undone. 

He grabs Geralt's hips and ruts into him. There's only the need, the hunger, to have what he wants. Jaskier forget about being nice and gentle and polite, about being considerate, selfless, and all the things the world keeps telling him he must be. Geralt offers himself up for the taking and Jaskier _takes_.

'Touch yourself-' He gasps out the order, but what he watches is not Geralt's hand on his cock. It's Geralt's face, half turned away and hidden. He has his eyes closed, brows knitted together and breathes hard, open mouth pressed against his arm. Lips pulled back from his teeth, neck arched and ponytail coming apart, Geralt looks achingly vulnerable. 

He strokes himself, hard and fast, while Jaskier chases his own release. Grabbing Geralt's hair, Jaskier forces him to turn his head. 'Look- at me-'

Geralt does, and his eyes are black pools Jaskier drowns in. 

There's no fighting it, no struggle to keep his head above water. Jaskier pitches forward and clutches at Geralt, fingers digging hard into his skin. He cries out again and again, face pressed into Geralt's neck, Geralt's pulse beating rapidly against his lips. 

Until he spills himself with one last hard thrust, one last shout. He collapses on top of Geralt, vaguely aware of the sticky warmth between that that means Geralt has come before him. Maybe with him, and there's a tinge of regret in Jaskier that he hasn't paid attention. But it's pushed aside by a great lassitude, his limbs all heavy and his mind all fuzzy.

Geralt doesn't move under him except for his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. And his arms around Jaskier, holding him tight.

When Jaskier think he might be able to exert some kind of control over his body again, he gives it a try, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down on Geralt. Who looks right back at him, a smile turning his expression soft. It's an expression very few people get to see, and sometimes Jaskier thinks that is a shame. But right now, he savours the intimacy of it. 

'You _enjoyed_ that.' Geralt can't even muster the energy to growl.

'Yes. Yes, I did. Are you telling me you didn't?' Jaskier is teasing. It took a while, but they are at a point where they have no problems telling each other what it is they want and like. And he trusts Geralt would have used his word if he hadn't liked this. Instead of, say, just pushing Jaskier away and off the bed. Which had been an accident, and Geralt had apologised many times.

'I'm telling you we should do that again sometime. If you want.' Geralt runs his palm up Jaskier's side and into his hair, lazily scritching at his scalp.

'Mmhmm.' Jaskier leans into Geralt's hand, eyes half closed. 'And next time, I might even have use for your sword.'


	2. The Virtue of Patiene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'Are you sure about that?' Jaskier takes the dimeritium shackles from Geralt but he is not convinced. It seems too extreme, and dangerous. He's not as prone to being overly watchful as Geralt is, but what if something happens and Geralt needs to defend himself?_  
>  The stakes get raised.

'Are you sure about that?' Jaskier takes the dimeritium shackles from Geralt but he is not convinced. It seems too extreme, and dangerous. He's not as prone to being overly watchful as Geralt is, but what if something happens and Geralt needs to defend himself? 

It's not like Jaskier can protect him, unless their attackers are intimidated by cutting words and a sharp note played on a lute. Jaskier doubts anyone wishing to harm Geralt will be that kind of person.

Geralt just nods. 

After a pause, he seems to sense some more explanation is required. 'If it makes you feel better, you can shackle my hands in front of me. I just want the Signs gone. Please?'

He knows fully well Jaskier can't say no when he asks like that and does his whole awkward smile and puppy eyes thing. A _wolf_ pup, but still. 

'Fine. Fine, but if you want out at any time—'

'Lovely bottom. I remember.' Geralt's shy smile turns into an excited grin. He's already down to leather pants and a shirt, and the pants do nothing to hide that his grin is not the only excited thing about him.

Jaskier takes a moment to get into character. To forget about the frankly dingy room they had rented for the night. Travelling with Geralt has many perks but luxurious accommodations usually isn't one of them. To forget his fear that an angry mob with pitchforks will come for them - in fact, the people here seem glad to see a witcher. Their fields were overrun by nekkers.

Standing up tall he looks Geralt up and down. 'Take off your shirt. Please.' 

Geralt does as he is told and Jaskier steps behind him, closes his hand around Geralt's wrist and pulls it on his back, fixes the first shackle around it. Geralt moves easily, offers himself up to be tied and made helpless. 

Well.

Jaskier holds no illusion that Geralt couldn't still overpower him, even with his hands actually tied behind his back. But that is not what this is about. 

He takes a moment to appreciate the way the muscles of Geralt's back move and bunch under the scarred skin while he finishes shackling him. A soft touch to his spine makes Geralt shudder, the short chain between the shackles giving a loud clink.

Walking around to Geralt's front, Jaskier gives one last caress to his face and then steps back. Geralt bows his head, and when he looks up again, he wears the expressionless mask of a witcher, eyes cold and features frozen. It's like the sudden bite of frost in the middle of summer.

'You will kneel. Or I will call the guards and they will see to it. If you want the option of getting up again, I would recommend that you get on your knees on your own free will.' Jaskier's voice is just as cold as Geralt's eyes.

Two heartbeats and then Geralt slowly kneels. The crotch of his pants bulges and it must be uncomfortable to say the least. Jaskier doesn't care. He does, in fact, rather savour the thought. 

White hair falling on white skin, a faint pink flush slowly creeping into it and deepening the red of the scars, Geralt is gorgeous. And he is all Jaskier's.

Getting right into Geralt's space, Jaskier grabs his ponytail and pulls until Geralt has to look up at him. The chain gives another clink when Geralt tenses up his arms, pulls a sharp breath through his nose.

'I enjoyed myself so much last time, I thought we could repeat the experience. Do take note of the fact that I have set your friends free. You, however, will remain here. With me. It's a small price for the continuing life and health of your friends, I am sure you will agree.' 

Silence from Geralt. He stares at Jaskier with narrowed eyes, lips drawn back from his teeth in a silent snarl. Jaskier grabs his chin, hard.

'Well? Do share your opinion on the matter.' 

'Fuck off.' Geralt rears his head back even more, shakes off Jaskier's hand. 'If you touch me again, I'll make you regret it.'

With a dramatic sigh, Jaskier sits on the single chair in the room, remembers at the last moment not to let himself fall onto it. It's much more rickety than his fantasy has it. 

He picks up Geralt's trophy knife from the table and plays with it, casually gesturing. Geralt cannot take his eyes off of the blade.

'If you think that I won't have my court mage put a spell on you to make you do whatever I want, you are mistaken. However, I would much prefer your voluntary participation. Spells make people so _dull_.' Jaskier sighs, less dramatic and more disappointed this time. 

At the back of his mind, he is amazed by what he comes up with. Such horrible ideas, and it's not like it's so far fetched. They both have experienced what that kind of magic can do. But maybe that is the appeal. There's certainly a thrill to it. To the thought of pretending to do this. He squirrels it away for later examination.

Geralt slumps the tiniest bit, drops his gaze. 'Tell me what you want.'

It's barely a whisper but it echoes in Jaskier's mind, raises every hair on his body. It raises his cock, too, and he has to shift to accommodate it. Tapping the flat of the blade against his pursed lips, Jaskier pretends to think it over. Geralt swallows and his adam's apple bobs. He's still watching the blade, from below his lashes.

Jaskier wants to do _everything_ to him. Have Geralt suck his cock, fuck him, make Geralt fuck him, make Geralt pleasure himself - it's a plentiful buffet of possibilities, each of them mouthwatering to think about.

But since he has Geralt on his knees, he decides to start there. Puts the knife down and strides back over to Geralt, unlacing his pants on the way. His fingers shake with excitement. 

Geralt sucks down air and his mask slips, shows a moment of fear before he schools himself. It lights a fire under Jaskier's lust and he grabs Geralt's hair again.

'Open up.'

He ignores the little voice at the back of his mind telling him that no one with half a brain would do that, not with Geralt scowling as he does. This isn't about sensible things. And Geralt's scowl cannot hide the dread in his eyes. Sometimes Jaskier does think that Geralt should consider a career on stage. But his acting is too subtle for the crowd. It's very effective for this specific one man audience though, and Jaskier feeds on every tiny twitch of Geralt's features and hands.

Geralt hesitates too long for his taste. Jaskier pulls hard on the ponytail, forcing his head back. 'Do you prefer I open it for you? It can be arranged.'

All muscles tense, Geralt looks like he thinks about attacking and it gives Jaskier a thrill, a sense of danger. But then Geralt opens his mouth and Jaskier wastes no time in pushing in his cock, making Geralt gag right away.

'Stop that. I know you can do better.' He keeps his tone soft, a gentle chiding. He does not allow Geralt much time to adjust, fucks into his mouth and relishes the noises Geralt makes. All the muffled moans and gags and gasps when he allows Geralt a moment to breathe carry just the right note of distress.

Hips surging forward, Jaskier buries himself in Geralt's throat and doesn't pull back even when Geralt struggles to swallow around him. He gives Geralt a second to take a breath and then does it again.

Suddenly, Geralt twists his head away, coughing wetly, pulling himself out of Jaskier's grasp. He's bend over, sucking down air in huge whooping gasps.

 _Fuck!_ 'I am so sorry!' Jaskier is on his knees in front of Geralt, hand on his shoulder to comfort him. But Geralt leans into him, gently headbutting him.

'I'm fine. Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted- I don't know-' Geralt shrugs, searching for words.

 _Oh._ 'To make it real. We can do that. I just was- surprised.' Scared is what he had been, of having gone much too far. But Jaskier understands what Geralt wants from this and he's prepared to try, for Geralt. 

He leans in for a kiss, licks the taste of his own precum off of Geralt's lips. 'Do you want to continue?'

At Geralt's nod, Jaskier steals another kiss and then stands. Moving fast, he grabs Geralt's hair again and hauls him forward. The surprised gasp and clumsy shuffling as Geralt tries to keep up are very gratifying. Geralt never is clumsy. He is, in fact, almost annoyingly collected and graceful in whatever he does. It's a constant distraction for Jaskier.

But now, forced to crawl after Jaskier on his knees, there is nothing graceful, or collected about him. Jaskier manages to keep him off balance and only just moving fast enough until they reach the bed.

'Up. On your back.' Taking a step back, Jaskier watches Geralt slowly stand and then roll on the bed, shifting to get comfortable with the shackles digging into his back. He has time for it because Jaskier is not undressing in much of a hurry.

'Don't worry, I will not hold it against you that you can't take me. Yet. We have time.' He gives Geralt a bright smile, and Geralt glares at him, clearly biting back vicious curses. The way he scrunches up his nose is normally a clear warning sign, but right now Jaskier can appreciate how— cute it is. Torture wouldn't bring him to admit that out loud.

With his clothes thrown over the chair, Jaskier comes to bed, grabbing the phial of oil on the way. He straddles Geralt's thighs and pushes him down on the bed with a hand to his chest. 

'This must be so _uncomfortable_! Let me help you.' Busying himself with unlacing Geralt's leathers, Jaskier runs his fingers all over Geralt's trapped cock and is rewarded with twitches and muffled moans. He watches closely from under his lashes while pretending not to notice.

Leathers and braies unlaced, Jaskier pulls them down to the middle of Geralt's thighs. He has no intention of giving Geralt any more room than that. Let him stay shackled by his own pants. Jaskier has what he wants: Geralt's cock all hard and swollen laying against his stomach.

He runs a fingertip along it from base to tip, pulls down the foreskin and swirls his finger in the drops of precum. 'Well, at least you are eager. That does make up for a lack of skill.' He flashes another bright smile. 'I'll let you lick my cum off my fingers later.'

 _Oh gods._ Geralt looks absolutely murderous and it seems the situation has send all blood straight to Jaskier's cock with none left for his brain, leaving his mouth to fend for itself. It's not that Jaskier is shy, normally, but he always thought Geralt would just rolls his eyes at such talk. 

He does not. But his eyes widen, the gold swallowed more and more by black.

'Just get it over with.' Geralt forces the words out between clenched teeth and sucks down air when Jaskier takes him in hand to slick him up.

'Don't be in such a hurry. Let yourself enjoy this!' Jaskier certainly does and takes his time. Stroking Geralt's shaft, ending every stroke by running his thumb over the exposed head, Jaskier soon has him squirming. And he sees no reason to end his teasing just yet. 

Raising himself up on his knees, Jaskier reaches between his legs, lifting up his balls and fingering himself. Spreading oil over his entrance, dipping a finger in, he closes his eyes for a moment. 

When he opens them again, Geralt seems frozen between his legs, watching Jaskier's every move with his lip held between his teeth. He has raised himself on his elbows and it makes the muscles in his arms and stomach bunch. Jaskier has a long moment of watching Geralt watch him, fascinated by the unguarded expression of want on his face.

Then Geralt catches himself, and hides behind his witcher's mask again, features unmoving and stoic. But not stoic enough that he can keep from moaning when Jaskier takes him in hand again and sets the head of Geralt's cock against himself. 

One hand to Geralt's chest, Jaskier pushes him down again. Geralt moves, shifting his shackled hands to one side so the metal rings don't press into his back. It allows Jaskier to see Geralt's hands, how they are balled into fists, tightening and relaxing, and tightening again.

Jaskier sinks down on Geralt's cock, torturously slow. When he's finally seated, he sits still and brings his full weight to bear down on Geralt. For a moment he forgets that Geralt could send him flying with a twist of his body. 

The illusion of having Geralt helpless on his back to do with as he pleases is perfect. It's aided by Geralt's loud cry, given through clenched teeth, when Jaskier raises himself and drops down again. Impales himself on Geralt by his own weight over and over. Touches his own cock, stroking himself in the same rhythm. 

Geralt is writhing under him, trying to get enough purchase to fuck up into Jaskier. Shackled by his own pants, arms curled awkwardly under him and with Jaskier bracing himself with one hand on his chest he doesn't have much luck.

But it's just enough to hit just the right spot and Jaskier tumbles into his orgasm, cum spurting all over Geralt's stomach and chest. He gives a shout that is as much lust as it is surprise and falls forward, catching himself at the last moment with both hands. 

Between his legs, Geralt is quivering with tension. The straw-stuffed mattress has not nearly enough spring in it for him to move without unseating Jaskier and he clearly doesn't want to do that. But he whines quietly, features gone all soft and needy.

Jaskier swipes two fingers through his cum and pushes them into Geralt's mouth. The whine turns into a surprised moan, Geralt's eyes opening wide.

'I told you- You'd get a- taste. Suck.' Jaskier is barely able to form words, gasping for air. But he wants to push Geralt, to see what he will do. Geralt wants to be helpless, so let him be helpless.

Fucking his fingers into Geralt's mouth, Jaskier waits until Geralt has licked the cum off of them. Then he lets Geralt's cock slip out, swings a leg off of Geralt, and gets to his feet, leaving Geralt with his pants around his thighs, covered in cum and his cock all swollen and hard.

'You did well. Next time, you get to come.' Jaskier gathers up his clothes, and gives an airy wave to Geralt, still tied on the bed. 'I'll have one of the guards take off the shackles.'

There's stunned surprise on Geralt face that gets shouldered outside by outrage. Geralt raises himself on his elbows. 'Are you serious?'

'Don't be silly, where would I get guards here?' Jaskier puts one hand on his hip, clothes held under the other arm, knowing full well that he looks very inviting in the soft light of the candles. Amazingly, he is still keeping a straight face, even when Geralt swings his legs off the bed and then realises he would have to hop to reach Jaskier.

Apparently not willing to give up what's left of his dignity, Geralt makes do with glaring at him. Perched on the edge of the bed, arms tied behind him, pants holding his legs together and hair falling wild over his shoulders and into his face, Geralt looks feral and vulnerable at the same time. 

Jaskier melts. 

He drops his clothes on the chair and comes back to Geralt, straddling him and pushing both hands into his hair. 'No. I'm not serious. I'll do whatever you want.'

Geralt leans into him, his face pressed against Jaskier's neck. This close, his heart beats against Jaskier's chest, for once not slow and measured but hurtling along. He smells of cum and sweat, with that metallic tang that is unique to him. At least Jaskier thinks it is, he hasn't met any other witchers yet. And he hasn't figured out a way to ask either, if it's something to do with the mutations.

Trailing kisses up Jaskier's neck, Geralt growls into his ear and sends shivers down his spine. 'You love being in control. You're getting _cocky_.'

Jaskier smiles, his nose buried in Geralt's hair. 'And yet, you keep coming back for more.'

'Mmhm.' Geralt slowly leans back until he is propped up on his elbows again, looking up at Jaskier. 'Fine. I'll do it. I'll wait until next time.'

'What, really?' Jaskier is just as surprised as Geralt was just a little ago. 'Oh. You don't need to, I was only—'

'Shut up and get me out of those shackles.' Geralt softens his words with a grin. 'I, ah, kind of like it. You can tease me with how much I want it next time, because I will. Want it.'

Shackles undone, finally fully undressed and all cleaned up, Geralt curls up around Jaskier, wraps him in an embrace. With his back pressed to Geralt's chest, Jaskier gives a sigh. It's always like nothing can hurt him, nothing bad will ever happen, when Geralt does this. It's as much an illusion as what they have just pretended, Jaskier is only too aware of it. But he can never resist giving in to the fantasy, at least for a moment.

'Be careful, tomorrow?' Jaskier knows that Geralt knows what he is doing, and nekkers are not even all that dangerous. For a witcher. But Jaskier still always worries.

'Of course.' Geralt kisses the back of his neck. 'After all, _someone_ promised to fuck me until I come, and I'll not let a bunch of nekkers mess with that.'

Jaskier turns over to look at him. 'I'll make it worth the wait.'

It gets a smile from Geralt, one of the rare soft ones that always take Jaskier by surprise and pierce his heart.

'I know. You always do.'


	3. A Halo of Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'What did you _do_ to me?' Geralt stalks across the room. His steel sword glides out of its scabbard with no noise at all._  
>  _'Put that away, don't be ridiculous. In fact, you can take off your amour, it's not like you will need it here.' Waving his hand like he is shooing away a troublesome fly, Jaskier frowns at Geralt._  
>  Time to raise the stake with (pretended) magic

The door slams behind Geralt. Since they have agreed on this as a signal to start the scene, Jaskier does neither flinch nor spill ink over the paper he is writing on. He just looks up with a friendly smile.

'You are back. So soon? I would have thought you wanted to have more of your freedom. After all, you did bruise several of my guards rather severely to get it.' Jaskier leans back in his chair, all attentive curiosity in the face of Geralt's snarling rage.

'What did you _do_ to me?' Geralt stalks across the room. His steel sword glides out of its scabbard with no noise at all.

'Put that away, don't be ridiculous. In fact, you can take off your amour, it's not like you will need it here.' Waving his hand like he is shooing away a troublesome fly, Jaskier frowns at Geralt.

Stopping in his tracks, Geralt stands stock still, muscles quivering, sword raised. Then it's back in the sheath, faster than Jaskier can track it, and Geralt starts dropping his armour until he is down to a tunic and braies. He stands in the middle of a pile of chainmail and plating and weapons, hands balled into fists and lips drawn back from his teeth. 

'I did not, in fact, do anything to you.' Jaskier gets up and walks in a slow circle around Geralt who visibly fights the urge to turn to keep him in his gaze. 'But I employ a very talented mage, and you will find that you cannot leave unless I allow it. And that you will return when I wish it. You are now rather susceptible to my wishes overall, as you have probably noticed. Go sit on the bed.'

For a moment, Geralt doesn't move. Then he stumbles to the bed, and Jaskier has never seen him so graceless. If he didn't know all of this was an act, he would be deeply worried. Sitting down heavily, Geralt glares at him from across the room, chest rising and falling noticeably. 

Jaskier stands, one hand on his hip, and considers him. "Amazing. The mage promised me you would be aware, but not able to withstand my suggestions. He clearly has not lied. Do take off your shirt."

Geralt does as he is told, limbs ungainly and sluggish. He drops the shirt to the floor. 'You'll regret this. I'll _make_ you regret this.'

Stepping right into his space, between his knees, Jaskier runs a hand down Geralt's chest, fingernails catching on the scars. 'I very much doubt it.'

Jaw tense, Geralt digs his fingers into the fabric of his braies. The muscles in his arms bunch under the skin, shuddering with the strain as he tries and fails to shove Jaskier away. The most he can do it raise one hand but he cannot touch. 

When Jaskier grabs his chin, Geralt flinches and closes his eyes. Moving slowly, Jaskier kneels on the bed between Geralt's knees to push his thigh against Geralt's cock. It forces a muffled moan from Geralt, jaw tightening under Jaskier's fingers.

Leaning forward, Jaskier licks at Geralt's neck, sucks on his earlobe. The slightly metallic tang of Geralt's sweat fills his mouth and he savours it. 'Let me see you touch your cock. Take off your braies.'

He steps back so suddenly Geralt sucks down air with a tiny gasp. It's not often Jaskier gets to startle him, and he enjoys it just as much as Geralt's taste on his tongue. 

Geralt's muscles bunch, like a panther getting ready to attack. But all that energy has nowhere to go, the pounce turns into a stumble. It's still enough to make Jaskier take a quick step backwards, and then forward again, ready to steady Geralt. There's no need, and once again he is fascinated by how much control Geralt has over his body. How good he is at pretending to be weak, and shackled by the spell, while being neither of these things.

Jaskier's outstretched hand gets a tiny smile from Geralt, breaking character just for a blink. It's there and gone, but Jaskier has seen it and spends a moment committing it to memory like he does with all of Geralt's smiles. 

As soon as Geralt's braies fall, they are both back in character. Jaskier watches as Geralt takes himself in hand, head down and legs slightly spread. It's an enticing sight and Jaskier makes no effort to hide the hunger on his face. He has to swallow, and he knows Geralt can hear that. Just like he can hear Jaskier's rapid heartbeat and increasingly heavy breath. 

'Very good. See, it's so much nicer when you are not shy about these things.' Jaskier treats Geralt to a bright smile, the one Geralt rather unkindly calls his sucking up-smile. It's flashy and big and entirely false, not that the lords and ladies it's usually aimed at can tell, or care. 

Geralt can, and he cares. Right now, though, it makes him only narrow his eyes and growl. Knowing it's an empty threat, Jaskier steps close and cups Geralt's balls in his hand. 

'I won't make you beg for anything. I could. But where's the fun in that. You'll do it on your own, sooner or later, you'll see.' Hand shooting out, he grabs Geralt's hair and yanks, forcing his head back so he can nip at his throat. Geralt draws rough breaths through his nose, his hand still stroking his shaft as he has been ordered to do.

'Kneel on the bed. On all fours. I'll be with you in a moment.' Jaskier moves away, unconcerned about turning his back on Geralt, or about whether his orders are followed. The spell will take care of it. He gets undressed, knowing very well Geralt is watching, and joins him on the bed, oil bottle in hand. 

Nudging Geralt's legs further apart, Jaskier sits behind him and takes him time caressing his thighs and ass until he hear a loud, unabashed moan from Geralt. Under Jaskier's palms, the muscles in Geralt's legs quiver.

From where Jaskier is sitting, he has no good view of Geralt's face, but an excellent one of his ass and his back and that's telling him just as much. Sometimes he thinks that it's easier reading Geralt's body language than his expressions, no matter the situation. He controls it far less rigidly, and of course there's just more of it. 

Right now, the tension in Geralt's shoulders and back as he arches up into Jaskier's touch is about as loud as if Geralt would simply shout _please fuck me already_. Although Jaskier would appreciate hearing the words as well, the way Geralt's voice will sometimes break mid-sentence. 

Geralt gives a soft cry when Jaskier reaches between his legs and palms his cock. It's shockingly hot in Jaskier's hand, and he gives it a few leisurely strokes, grinning to himself at the way Geralt can't help but roll his hips. 

'Look at you, so eager. I don't know why you bothered with running away, although I do realise you need to walk the Path. Be useful. Have some freedom. You'll get it. When I say you can have it." The last words come sharp, like a lashing, and Jaskier grips Geralt's balls just hard enough to remind him who is in charge. Who holds the leash. 

And isn't that a delicious idea.

Later. Right now, his attention is taken by Geralt twisting around to look at him. 

'That's not freedom, and you know it.' He bares his teeth, closes his eyes with a gasp when Jaskier gives a tug on his balls.

'You will learn to appreciate it. Like everything else about our little arrangement here.' Jaskier lets Geralt go to dribble a generous amount of oil on his own cock and on Geralt's ass. There's the tiniest flinch when the cool oil runs down Geralt's sac and Jaskier smiles, sets himself against Geralt's hole.

'Now be a good toy and fuck back into me.' 

Geralt's eyes go wide at Jaskier's words, delivered in a low growl that Jaskier himself had no idea he'd speak in. After a moment of hesitation, Geralt moves and soon, Jaskier is buried in his ass. A little deeper with each thrust of of Geralt's body, hands fisting into the sheets and pushing his weight against Jaskier.

The moans and shudders it forces from Geralt are a feast and Jaskier gorges himself on it. He wants more and leans forward to grab Geralt's hair, doesn't care if he pulls painfully on it, knows he does. It makes Geralt fuck into him harder, with louder moans.

Jaskier catches Geralt trying to touch himself, balancing his weight just on his knees and one arm. Closing his fingers around Geralt's wrist, Jaskier pulls his arm back.

'Oh no you don't. You don't touch your cock without my permission. Ever.' There's that growl again, fueled by the way Geralt's ass clenches around Jaskier and by how he struggles just the right amount to free his arm. A challenge, but not one Geralt actually intends to win.

Jaskier puts his weight forward, leans into Geralt and forces his head down, one hand still gripping Geralt's hair. The ponytail has long since come apart in Jaskier's fingers, strands falling forward into Geralt's face, swaying with every thrust and every gasp.

'Please—' 

There's that crack in Geralt's voice, and the rest of his words tumble into it. He tries again.

'Please. I need to come. Please—' There's no pretense in Geralt's voice, or the way he shudders under Jaskier, muscles trembling and skin shining with sweat, every scar standing out in angry red and deathly white.

Jaskier lets go of Geralt's arm and hair. He needs his hands to grip Geralt's hips, made weak by this display of naked want and need. 

'Go on. Make yourself come for me.'

Geralt wastes no time, and his frantic movements and the way his arm buckles until his face is buried in the sheets send a crashing wave of pleasure over Jaskier. He pulls Geralt hard onto his cock, fingers digging into Geralt's hips, and spills himself with a shout. His orgasm takes all his strength with it, leaving him stranded on top of Geralt who carries his weight easily. 

With his cheek pressed between Geralt's shoulder blades, Jaskier can hear Geralt's heartbeat, galloping away in his chest, and his stuttering breaths as he strokes himself, chases his release. When he finds it, he arches up under Jaskier, almost throwing him off, and then flops down on the mattress. Very slowly, he tips over to the side and Jaskier rolls with him, ends up with Geralt in his arms.

Jaskier tenderly brushes the hair out of Geralt's face, props himself up on one elbow to look at him. 'Thank you.'

Geralt reaches up to touch Jaskier's face, calloused fingers ghosting over his skin. 'Mhm—' He has to clear his throat to speak. 'You really _love_ pushing me around, don't you.'

'Well, yes. I do. And such lucky coincidence that it is exactly what you want.' Jaskier bends down for a quick kiss.

'Fair.' Geralt concedes the point and flops over on his back like a starfish. It's hot in their room, under the roof of the inn, but it does give them privacy. 

Changing the sheets and wiping them both down with cool water helps a little, and Jaskier takes his time with cleaning Geralt up. He kisses the skin he has washed, working his way from Geralt's thigh to his cock to his stomach and chest until he is stretched out on top of him. Geralt buries both hands in Jaskier's hair, scritching and softly tugging on the strands. 

They drift in silence for a little. Outside, a nightjar keeps making its strange noise, oddly soothing. The full moon is bright enough even for Jaskier to see in. It shines in through the windows, casts shadows on the floor. A bat flits by, its high pitched cry at the cusp of Jaskier's hearing. 

He rolls off of Geralt, into his arm, one leg still flung across him. 'Did you ever do that for real with someone? Using Axii on them, in bed?'

'What?' Geralt's voice is a hiss. 'What do you take me for?' 

He sits up, throwing Jaskier off with ease and is almost half out of bed before Jaskier can stop him, one hand to his arm. 

'Not like that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant like we just pretended. Having them agree to it before you cast the Sign.' It had only been an idle question but it has an attraction to Jaskier that surprises himself. But right now, he's much more interested in making Geralt understand.

'Oh. Like that.' Geralt relaxes, and takes some time to think about his answer. He comes to lie next to Jaskier again, drawing lazy patterns on his chest with a fingertip.

'No. I never did. Never had anyone who was interested. Or if they were, I didn't trust them. Or they didn't trust me.' There's a long pause Jaskier doesn't interrupt because Geralt clearly isn't done with thinking.

'Do you— Would you be interested?' Geralt doesn't move, at all. He doesn't even breathe while he waits for Jaskier's answer.

Covering Geralt's hand on his chest with his own, Jaskier smiles. 'Yes. And I trust you. I know you'd never do anything I said I don't want.'

It surprises a smile out of Geralt. A big one, one that all the people who say witchers have no emotions wouldn't think possible. But Jaskier has never believed in that rumour. 

'I would— like to try. Sometime. Not just now, but— yeah.' Geralt falls silent when Jaskier pulls him down into a kiss.

More silence, only filled by the nightjar. But it's comfortable, the tension Geralt held has fallen away completely at Jaskier's answer and kiss. Geralt keeps caressing Jaskier, lets his hand wander while watching him with rapt attention. He's not ready to talk about this in any kind of detail, Jaskier knows from experience. Jaskier isn't going to push. Geralt will bring it up again when he's ready.

'Sleep, now? Pushing you around is hard work and I'm exhausted. Let's talk about this when we're not both all fucked out.' Jaskier tugs at Geralt to make him lie down, and Geralt obliges. He's asleep within seconds, one hand still resting on Jaskier's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Into:  
> roleplayed mind control
> 
> Title from [Somebody Told Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkFq7uuHSiU) by Eurythmics
> 
> If you have never heard a European Nightjar before, [listen to it here](https://www.xeno-canto.org/571995). It's not the most romantic of birds, but if they are a bit further away, it's quite a pleasant noise. They can actually be heard (quietly) in W3, somewhere to the northwest of Novigrad.
> 
> I did not intend this but the sex they end up having is heavily influenced by [this art](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EXbR7SmXQAMI829?format=jpg&name=large) by [@Lehana_aida on Twitter](https://twitter.com/Lehanan_Aida). Because damn.

**Author's Note:**

> Photo credit: [Dabid Fedulov at Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/@phototastyfood?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)


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